Fleeting reason and the destruction of common sense
by Ruler of the Fake Empire
Summary: Everything is always just so screwed up, but when Ludwig brings the penniless Italian artist with beautiful eyes into his home he can't tell whether it gets worse or not. His life is thrown into a massive cascading fall of strange emotions and the need to take care of a young man calling himself Feliciano Vargus.
1. Chapter 1

The man was there again. Just like every other morning and every other evening. Every morning the copper haired man told me a good morning and every morning, as I walked home from work, he gave me a smile and told me good evening. I can't remember when he arrived at the bus stop outside my work building. He just showed up one day, sitting on the little step with his pencils, his sketch book and his scruffy little bag. His eyes shone at me in the morning and they twinkled at me in the evening. I questioned the people at work about him but they all said they didn't know him.

He was dirty and skinny and quite obviously living on the streets but he never asked me for any money. He never even looked at me hopefully. The copper haired man seemed just so surreal even though I was watching him get thinner and thinner as the days went by. At night I would fret about where he was sleeping and whether he would be eating. I tried to ignore him but every morning I would still end up muttering a rushed "guten tag". The copper haired man never demanded anything of me, he never asked for my guilt but he still ended up making me feel guilty anyway. It wasn't my fault he was sleeping on the streets… but somehow it felt like it was. The only time we ever really spoke was when he stood for the first time to greet me as I was coming home from work one day. I had thought that he was finally going to ask me for some money and I paused in my steady walk, knowing I didn't have any. I had forgotten to take my lunch so I had used all the cash I had to buy myself a potato salad from the small cafeteria. I began to panic, but he only smiled at me. He was carrying his sketch book under his arm. In his hands was a piece of paper he must of ripped out. He offered me the slip of paper and I took it from his hand. Our hands briefly touched and I had to suppress a gasp. His hands were warm despite the chill in the air. I worried for a second that he had a fever before looking down at the piece of paper and almost mistaking it for a mirror. There I was, imprinted on paper at this man's hand. Each line perfectly set, my features frowning, but calm. This was what I saw when I looked in the mirror every morning and somehow he had managed to capture than, turn it to lead and print it back out on this soft paper of his.

"Th-this is…" I was at a loss for words. How do you describe the indescribable? "Amazing" finally I breathed. I looked back up at the copper haired man and he was smiling contagiously at me. I smiled back at him.

"It's a thank you" he said, almost proudly. His accent? Where was his accent from? "I really appreciate the way you say good morning every day. It really makes me happy" My cheeks roared to crimson at his words. Nobody had ever said anything so sincere to me in my whole life. It felt like he was speaking from the very bottom of his soul. I look back down at the drawing of me. It must of taken him days to draw this. The gesture was so amazing, I didn't know what to say. Never had anyone bother to spend days on something for me.

"It really is beautiful. You're a great artist mister…" I trailed off hoping that he would finish my sentence. I suddenly wanted to know his name. I wanted to know who he was.

"Vargas. Feliciano Vargas" he held his hand out to me and we shook hands. Obviously this man hadn't been born into street life. He was such a well bred individual.

"My name is Ludwig Bachmerier" we shook hands and found myself noticing his tiny features. The way his hair was dirty. The way he held himself unconsciously tall. I was quite a bit taller than he was, but we still looked around the same age. If I hadn't already noticed it every morning and every evening since he had shown up I was definitely noticing it now. The copper haired man was beautiful. It was just blatantly obvious. With his bright golden eyes and features moulded like clay. Light skin and impervious smile, he was breathtaking simply as a person. I blushed again, just for thinking about it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ludwig" his smile was huge, but my time was running out. I had to get home, I had paper work to do. I let go of his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, but I really need to get home. I am sorry" he apologised and sincerely as he could manage but Feliciano still looked hurt. He covered it quickly with a smile. He nodded, without a word. I tried to give him back the piece of paper with my frown sown into its being but he held up his hands.

"No, it's for you. I want you have it" I must of looked surprised because for a second his cheerful demeanour faltered and he looked truly hurt. "You don't want it?" My heart leapt in my throat as I realised how stupid I'd been. I waved my hands frantically. I thought I was going to faint I was so sorry.

"Nein! I apologise. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought you would want to keep something so precious" the words slipped out without my permission but I supposed that they knew what they were doing because Feliciano grinned thankfully.

"Sì, sì. Thank you, Ludwig" I didn't know what in earth he was thanking me for, but I nodded anyway. By this point I just wanted to go home and scream into my pillow at how much of a fool I was making myself out to be.

"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow" still holing the piece of paper in his hand he quickly waved to the copper haired man, who he had decided was Italian, and swiftly walked off. Feliciano waved back to him, before settling back down on his step to catch the last of the evening sun.

Time passes as always

A lot of people have told me that I am not a very open person and I happen to agree with them. On the whole, in hate people and enjoy my solitude, but, also on the whole, I have never craved two simple words more in my entire life. I am convinced the only reason I even go to work is to hear Feliciano tell me good morning and good evening. I kept the picture he had drawn for me folded up in my wallet. Everyday I find myself reaching for it more and more. I could see him sitting there all day from my office as I sat at my desk. Sometimes he would get up and go to the bathroom, but he would always come back soon enough. Sometimes he would stop drawing or whatever he would be doing and just stare off into space, this cloudy expression on his face. I hated the way I didn't know what he was thinking about. I hated that he never changed his clothes. I hated how I never saw him eat anything.

"Mr Bachmerier!" I spun my chair around to greet the young voice. "I need help!" A young boy was rushing towards me. His glasses were askew and his blond hair ruffled. The boy's name was Mathew, he was the son of one of my coworkers, a man who had never really gotten the hang of being a papa. Sometimes his son would come into work with him. Normally children weren't aloud to be in the office but Mattie was an exception. He was so quiet barely anyone noticed him. Of course they were noticing him now.

The young boy was on the verge of tears and without even standing I scooped him up into my arms. Mattie was a pretty light weight figure and he was pretty easy to hold. It helped that I did weight training. He buried his head into my shoulder. The boy was one of the few people that actually appreciated me as a human. I'm what many people would call intimidating.

"What's wrong?" I asked tentatively. The boy was usually so quiet, this strange outburst couldn't of been without good reason.

"I ca-can't find my p-papa" he stuttered out, now crying. He was going to get my shirt wet. I stood up quickly. I could just tell that he was about to start wailing. I rushed out of the building while the boy continued to stutter about all sort of things. He seemed to be stuttering ridiculously loudly.

"Hey, Ludwig. Would you shut up that kid already!" Stupid Roderich. Lazy overpaid bastard. I glare at him as I walked by. Soon me and Mattie were out in the cloudy sunshine. It'll probably rain later today. I could smell it in the air.

Mattie had tears streaming down his face, but I still had no idea why. I'm not a very comforting person. I don't know how to comfort people. All I had under my belt is a temper and a permanent bad mood. I have to admit though, I had a soft spot for the kid.

I held Mathew above my head and looked at him. The boy was frantically trying to wipe away his tears but only seemed to be smearing them across his red, puffy cheeks.

"Okay, Mathew. Use your words and tell me what happened" I looked at him seriously for a second before setting him down on the steps and sitting down next to him. Very slowly I got a story out of him. Apparently he had gone to the bathroom, but when he had returned to his father's office he had found it empty of Francis, the boys father. He had waited for a while before going and looking around the building. When he still hadn't found his papa he had panicked and come to me.

I rubbed my temples, what could I do about this bothersome situation? I couldn't take Mattie back inside, Roderich would throw a fit, and I couldn't leave the kid alone and just get on with my day. Mathew was clinging worriedly to my sleeve and I realised I had left my jacket in my office. I shivered.

"Alright, Mattie. I know someone who can help us" I stood and took the boy's hand. Walking out to the front of the building where Feliciano was still sitting at his bus stop. "Feliciano!" I called out to him and he lowered his amber gaze from the sky to us. He looked largely surprised before grinning at us. It was obviously one of the days that he had tried to freshen himself up. I guess he would be able to take showers at the beach. His hair had no dirt in it and his eyes were just a little brighter.

"Ludwig" he beamed at me and Mathew. He didn't rise to greet us and instead waited for us to come to him. "Ciao"

"Feli, I need you're help" he must of noted the slight panic in my voice because he instantly frowned.

"What can I do?" Another thing I liked about him, he was so unquestioning.

"Have you seen a man go by recently?" If anyone had seen where Francis had gone it would be Feliciano. He sits here everyday, he would of noticed. I'm sure of it. He suddenly smiled at us.

"Of course I saw a man go by, Ludwig. This is a sidewalk" I frowned and inwardly groaned. Damn he was dense. Mattie giggled at his remark.

"Well, a very specific man. Tall, blond, very blue eyes" Feliciano frowned for half a second, thinking, but then he lightened proudly.

"He walked by about an hour ago. He was swaying and stuff. I though he was drunk or something" Feliciano shrugged and looked to the kid. "Was that your papà?" The kid nodded, shy towards the other man.

"Oui"

I smiled a little smile knelt down. I took the boy's hands and looked him in the eyes. I hoped it comforted him.

"I'm going to go back inside now, so I can call your other papa, okay? Can you stay with Feliciano? I assure you he is very nice, he might even show you some of his drawings if your good" I was taking a risk, and I guess I was sort of leaving Feliciano out of the negotiation, but I didn't think he would mind. I also doubted that he would kidnap the Mathew. He was just one of those completely harmless types.

Mattie hesitated, looking briefly to Feliciano who just smiled at the boy. He nodded and the other man reached out his hand. Mathew took his soft looking hand and promptly sat down beside him. I paused for a moment watching them. Feliciano brought out another sketch book out of his bag and handed it Mathew. In seconds they had become the best of friends.

I smiled and turned to go back into the building. It didn't take long to find Francis' address book. It was jammed between an empty bottle of gin and a box of tissues. I knew that he and his partner were separated. Arthur used to work here, but after Francis became an alcoholic he decided to take their two boys and get out of there. Unfortunately for the more responsible parent Francis had decided to cover his raging addiction for a few weeks and fight for custody. Somehow he had gotten his hands on Mattie. Hopefully this would be enough for Arthur to get full custody.

After calling Arthur who was rightfully enraged I headed back down to Feli and Mattie. There were three doors that lead out of the building. The door out the front that was for clients only and the two doors on both sides of the building for deliveries and workers. The first door was the door that me and Mattie came out of first, but this time I came out the second one. I had to go towards the pair from behind.

"Why are you sitting here?" I could just hear Mathew asking the question and I heard Feliciano pause. I stopped walking and listened close, wondering how he would answer.

"I like sitting in the sun"

"But, you always sit here, even when it's cold"

"Well, I don't have a lot of money, you see, so I don't have anywhere else to be and I think that if I don't have anywhere to be I should be somewhere where I get to look at the sky"

"Why doesn't someone just give you money?"

"Some people do, but this is a mess and when messes happen and you can't clean them up you just gotta keep living, which is what I'm doing. Here in the sun"

I lean on the pole next to me. I want to hit something. I want to yell at him. He's not keeping on living, he's starving to death. Still I don't. It's none of my business. Instead I go and sit down next to them to wait for Arthur, keeping my internal rage internal.

Time passes in that continual way.

When Arthur arrived he quickly took his tear stained boy. He thanked me and Feliciano hurriedly. Their other son, Alfred, was in the car as his twin hugged our legs before getting in the car. Feliciano had risen to greet the car when I pointed it out to him and now we stood together watching it disappear down the street. I was going to punch Francis the next time I saw him. Leaving his kid like that. I was enraged.

"Thank you, Feliciano. I really owe you one" he turned and grinned at me. He tried to cover it but I could see him shaking with just the exertion of standing. I wondered if her would make it through the night.

"It's perfectly fine" I wanted to shake him. How was being too exhausted to stand up straight fine? How was being so starved that they can't move fine? What about his whole situation was fine?

I shook my head, in silence. I didn't know how to voice my rage so I simply turned to go back to work.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Feli" I didn't get two steps before he grabbed my sleeve.

"Wait" his voice was faint and weakened by fatigue. I turned just a he fell. I watched his eyes close and his expression become one of pain. I caught him in my arms, but he only lay against my chest, barely breathing.

Then, of course, I completely lost my mind.

Author's note

I really enjoyed writing this and I hope that you enjoyed reading it. I love the Germany and Italy pairing and hope to continue off this soon.

On a disappointing note I don't own hetalia or any of the characters.

Faithfully yours,

Clementine


	2. Chapter 2

I didn't know what to do. People aren't meant to collapse. I had been a person my whole life and I had never done that. Almost every cell in my body told me to just run to a hospital and leave him there like a basket baby, then I could just run away from these stupid, aggravating, meaningless, hopeless feelings and get back to my life. The life I liked. The life where I only fretted about myself and my dogs and specifically not the Italian street man. Unfortunately for me these were not the cells I was listening to. I believe the cells that I was listening to we're some where around my chest.

As gently as I could I lifted up the man. He was so light, it wasn't hard. His pained expression had left him and all I had left was someone who seemed only blissfully sleeping. I wish I could feel whatever bliss he was going though, I would of liked to get in on that.

"Come on, Feli. Lets get you something to eat" I was basically muttering to myself but it still felt like he could hear me. His faint warmth was seeping in my clothes and it comforted me in a way I couldn't understand at the time. I somehow managed to grab his bag. I needed to get him to my home. I needed to get him something to eat… somewhere to sleep. I just needed to make sure he was okay.

I quickly began to walk, almost running at first. My apartment block wasn't very far from my work, which was why I decided to walk every morning. Feliciano's head rested peacefully on my shoulder and I found myself constantly looking down at him in awe. Once again I was taken aback by his fragile beauty. He seemed particularly beautiful while he slept. Everything about him was soft and delicate. Like… like a paper crane. I held him closer to my chest at the thought.

Needless to say I wasn't willing to let my Italian street man disappear from my life. I still yearned to be told good morning and good evening everyday. I turned my head to the yet to be tearful sky.

"Is that so much to ask? I just want four words a day from this man. How could that be too much?" I pleaded to the heavens. Maybe my reasons for trying to help this man were slightly selfish, but they were enough to drive me to the edge of the world and back. Selfish as they were they would keep Feliciano alive which was all I bothered to care about.

I opened the door to my apartment with a grunt. I would of felt exerted carrying a man up four flights of stairs had he not be so damn light. I didn't have a particularly big apartment. Just a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. Quickly I put Feliciano down on my sofa, so that he was sitting up a little. I was about to go and raid my own kitchen when I paused, looking back at him and his frail condition. He looked so pale. I leant over him and ran my fingers through his copper coloured hair. Somehow his hair was still as soft as silk. It weaved through my fingers like spiders silk. I leant down further and kissed the top of his head, my nose buried in his hair. Lavender.

"Don't worry, Feliciano. You're gonna be fine, meine schöne kleine" I murmured into his rusty hair. I straightened with a small tentative smile, my hand moving away from his head. Just as I turned I heard a small croak.

"Feli" he said, his voice was not but a whisper. "I like it when you call me Feli. Please" his voice sounded so faint, it was adorable in a way that annoyed me. He hadn't opened his eyes or even moved but just the way he spoke was enough to make my whole being do back flips.

I blushed at the fact that I had been caught doing that, especially by the subject of my unrequited affections. God, I was so sure I had self control. Thank god I said the last bit in German, I though I would die if he knew I thought he was beautiful.

"Alright… Feli" truth be told the name made me uncomfortable, but, hell, I'd call him The Amazing Italian Artist Feliciano Vargas if it would make him happy.

I walked away, trying desperately to cool my burning cheeks, it couldn't of been good for my health to be blushing so much. I began searching my fridge for something for him to eat, something smooth would probably be good. Something to go down easy. I found some cold tomato soup right at the back. I though he would like it. I got it off a Spaniard. Italians and the Spanish got on right? I shrugged and shoved it into the microwave. Standing, with a deep distrustful sigh I looked about. Where were the dogs? I whistled, briefly forgetting that Feli was sleeping just in the other room. I had three dogs. Two German shepherds I had brought over from Berlin and a border collie. They ran towards me, tails wagging and their tongues lolling out of their mouths. They jumped around my feet, barking happily. I had chosen this apartment for two good reasons. They would deal with my dogs and it was close to work. I particularly liked my apartment. It was…nice.

I hugged my dogs and shushed them all at once. I suddenly realised that the microwave would make that annoying sound when it was done so I spun around, opening the door before it had the chance to wake my sleeping Italian. My dogs slunk around my feet sensing my agitation. I poured the like warm tomato soup into a bowel and grabbed a spoon from the draw. I rushed into the living room where Feliciano had opened his eyes. He was staring weakly out the window. His ever present smile was gone and that terrified me. I thought that smile would be there even in this state, but I was wrong.

My father was a doctor and I had my fair shade of knowledge about the human body and all its quirks, but I didn't need that to know that food and sleep was what the human body runs on and the skinny man before me was in dire need of both.

I bobbed down next to him.

"Feli, I have tomato soup and I want you to eat it" I didn't know why but I was suddenly fearful that he would reject the food. I had no idea why he would do that, but I thought that perhaps it would be something that he would do. I made my voice firm and strong. The Italian looked towards me, his amber eyes still retained that happy little sparkle that filled me with foolish confidence. Quietly I dipped the silver spoon into the murky redness and brought it up to his mouth. Without a word he sipped it. I could see that he was dipping slowly back into the fog he had only just emerged from. Every movement contained his failing strength. Somehow we got through the whole bowel before he decided that he was done for the day. His head rolled to the side and his eyes closed. I adjusted him, making sure he was perfectly comfortable, then I dragged a quilt over him, so that he was warm. Adrian, one of the German shepherds, curled up on the sofa with Feli and I approved of that. The big dog would keep him warm. I patted his head as I went by.

As quietly as I could I took the now empty bowl and put it in the sink. I stared out the window. It was about to rain, its good that he collapsed then I guess. Or he would of been out in that. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair and leant my forehead against the cold window pane. What was I doing? I had just brought a strange Italian street man into my home and fed him soup. What was wrong with me? Who does that? Ever? He could be an axe murderer on the run from the law for all I know. Then again no axe murderer I have ever heard of was that pretty.

I've gotten of topic again.

Dammit all.

Just dammit all.

I'm going for a walk.

Time passes despite all odds.

When I arrived back all I had achieved was that I had become soaking wet. I quickly rushed into bathroom to find a towel. My hair had fallen into my face and I brushed it back quickly. Muttering a string of curses under my breath rubbed my wet hair with the towel. I wandered into the living room, like I was compelled by some maleficent force. There he was. Still beautiful and still sleeping. The two other dogs had curled up next to the sofa where Feliciano slept, I was glad for that. I wouldn't of wanted him to wake up only to find a dark apartment. He must of awoken up briefly because he had moved from the position I put him in. He slept on his side, one of his arms dangling down, tickling the border collie's nose. I approach them curiously. The room wasn't dim and it was barely evening outside but it still took me a moment to make out the marking on his arm. A scar. Jagged and old. I mentioned before that my Papa was a doctor and a pretty good one too, but when me and my bruder were children he would sometimes bring home photos and talked to us about that ways that people hurt themselves. My father was convinced that his children would not be ignorant of the pain in the world and what it makes people do. Thanks to that often harsh education I know an uncomfortable amount of what those scars looked like. I bobbed down, it intrigued and frightened. I traced the scar with my thumb. This wasn't one of those scars. This wasn't a scar of an internal battle, this was the scar from a battlefield. The scar twisted around his arm from his elbow and curled around his thumb. It was a strange scar. Most like a burn scar than anything else. Like someone had taken a hot poker and dragged it across his skin. I frowned. I didn't like that idea of someone doing that to my penniless Italian. Actually I hated it. My nose twitched in rage. Somehow even the idea of someone touching him made me want to roar protectively. My frown grew even more prominent.

My thumb was still running up and down his soft scar, that had moulded into his skin over time. This was a scar that would be with him forever.

Once again time passes.

When I left the next morning, to return to work, Feliciano was still sleeping. Though his back was facing me. I would of told him to wake up and eat something but overnight the dogs seemed to of become incredibly protective of him, like he was some sort of fellow K9. They refused to let me near him.

To clear my conscience I left out some toast that I knew would get cold for him to eat if he awoke during the day. I wasn't used to having to cook for someone else and immediately started to fret about whether he would like it. Of course, I'm not really how I would be capable of screwing up toast. I felt like punching myself for being so foolish.

When I returned home that evening I found the sofa abandoned and the dogs running around the apartment. I walked into the kitchen feeling panicked to find him missing. Had he left? I noticed a bowel of something steaming on the counter and one of his sketch books. As I neared I realised it was pasta, hot and delicious smelling. The sketch book had some sort of scrawled note on it. He had surprisingly bad handwriting considering all he did some days was draw.

Dear Ludwig,

I am not quite sure what to write considering

that you saved my life, but the pasta is for you.

I hope you like it!

Love Feli!

P.s I am taking advantage of your hot water.

I smiled to myself, but was still left slightly saddened. He didn't deserve to need to be saved. I don't know how he ended up nearly starving to death but he didn't deserve such a cruel fate.

I figured then that he could stay with me for how ever long he wanted.

I shook my head at the lie. I wanted him to stay for me, not for his own safety.

Authors note:

And thus chapter 2 was born. God lord, this must be how god feels.

I really hope to like this new chapter.

As sad as it sounds I don't own hetalia or any other characters.

Yours faithfully,

Clementine.


	3. Chapter 3

I had always thought, even when I was just a boy, that some people in this world were just out to make the human race look bad and I couldn't help but wonder if Feliciano Vargas was one of them. It didn't take a lot of reasoning to know that he was a suspicious figure in this game of my life. Nobody just gets scars like his by accident. After he came out of the shower he had wandered into the kitchen, following Adrian like a child. He had a towel wrapped securely around his thin waist. I would of brushed, from where I was perched at the counter eating the pasta he had left for me, had I not been able to both count his ribs and his battle scars.

Three bullet wounds. One to the shoulder, one to the hip and one to the stomach. He also had a blade scar running from his right shoulder, across his chest and down to his hip. They were eerily alluring. Memories of life threatening pain. Echoes of a past that left markings on this beautiful man's skin. A golden chain hung from his slender neck and two pendants rested snugly in between his collar bones. One was a bright golden cross, that sparkled in the evening light and the other was a silver ring that shone just as brightly.

Feliciano seemed completely unfazed by the fact that I could see his scars. Instead he completely forgot about the dog he had followed into the room and leapt onto me. I almost fell off the stool, he barrelled into me with such force. He was surprisingly strong, I guess that was a good thing… on some mysterious level at least.

"Fe-Feliciano" I couldn't help but stutter. I was being hugged by a half naked gorgeous Italian man that I had various mixed feelings about, what was I meant to do?

He realised me with a grin and held me at arms length. Without any hesitation he kissed me out the lips then on each cheek. I think that's an Italian thing? Still I do believe that you would of been able to warm a third world country with the heat on my cheeks. He grinned at me, completely obvious to the discomfort he was causing me.

"Feli" he corrected happily. I had completely forgotten about that. I blushed an even sharper shade of red and his smile grew. Perhaps he did notice it after all. "Hello Luddy! I'm so glad your back!" Luddy? Who was Luddy? I reasoned vaguely that it was probably me. I frowned, I had never enjoyed nicknames of any sort and this time was no exception.

"Please don't call me that" I doubted he could even heard me, he was still blabbering endlessly about his day. How he had woken up. His adventures with the dogs. His thankfulness to me. So on and so forth. To be honest I wasn't particularly interested. I was knee deep in my own thoughts and they were only pulling me deeper into a dark terrifying maze of questions with more than one answer. I was thinking about his scars. Where do you get scars like that? Maybe he was an ex-cop or something. I almost laughed at the thought. This guy? Chasing criminals? I highly doubt that. Maybe he was an ex-criminal though? Or a current criminal? My brow furrowed, all previous humour left me. What other methods are there? Scars don't come from nowhere.

"Luddy?" I snapped out of my thoughts in an instant and focused on Feli, he was standing in front of me looking concerned. I blinked at him in surprised.

"Why aren't you wearing any clothes?" I looked down at him disapprovingly as I recognised one of the towels my mother sent me a few years back wrapped tightly around his waist. Feliciano immediately lightened at my coming back into the conversation.

"One of the dogs stole my clothes" he said happily. And to think this man had been in a gun fight and survived.

"They did what?" I was surprised to say the least.

"They sto-" I cut him off. Once again, dense as heck.

"Yes, yes, I heard you. It was a force of habit" Jesus Christ, this man would of have my head before the end of the night. Before he got the chance I whistled for the dogs. They immediately came, bouncing around our feet. "Where did you put his clothes, boys?" I raised my eye brows and gestured to Feliciano who was lovingly petting Zander, the border collie. They seemed to get the message because Adrian immediately leapt into the air and ran from the room. Christen, the other German shepherd, balanced his paws on my knee and whined softly for a pat. I loved my dogs. I had ever since I got them. Ever since my bruder passed away they became the closest thing I had to family. That was a sad thought. Still I scratched Christen's ears and he pushed his mussel into the palm of my hand.

A few seconds later Adrian came back carrying a bundle of rags in his mouth. He seemed god awfully proud of himself for tearing Feliciano's clothes to rags, like he was doing everyone a favour. At this Feliciano started laughing and my jaw hit the floor so hard I'm pretty sure it ended up half way to china. Oh dear god. I felt like covering my head with my hands I was so embarrassed. And what was worse was that Adrian was my dog so Feliciano probably though I had set him up to it. Fuck.

"Oh, scheiß drauf" I muttered to myself. I turned to Feliciano ready to apologise and beg for forgiveness, but he didn't seem to care. He had tipped his head back laughing, in his hands he held the tattered remains of his shirt. He seemed to find the situation actually funny. I didn't know what I thought about this, but I liked his laugh and that was good enough for me.

"I'll go see if I can find you some clothes" I said. Feliciano was trying to recover, he wiped a tear from his eyes and nodded. Somehow I felt like the dogs had replaced me with him. I didn't feel hurt, not at all. These were faithful dogs, they just saw the skinny man as a big hairless puppy that I had no idea how to take care of. Maybe having Feliciano living with me would be a good thing. I hadn't had much time to walk the dogs recently. Maybe Feliciano could walk them during the day.

"Liebe gott" I murmured as I began to go through my closet for some old clothes. Here I was, the most solitary person I know, thinking about someone staying with me for more than a night. I bristled at my own thoughts. Well, it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go and I sure as hell wasn't going to let him leave unless I was sure that he was living somewhere with an address and free food. "Dammit, why is he so damn small? I don't have anything for him to wear"

Time takes its usual passing course.

Somehow, by some miraculous stroke of mind bending luck, I managed to get both Feli into the smallest clothes I had without too much hassle and the dogs to settle. We sat on the couch with the dogs curled up at our feet. The television was on and Feliciano had already dropped off to sleep. I guess he wasn't strong enough yet to do the full day thing. My old shirt was slipping down his shoulder and I could see just the first bullet wound. I suspected that I should of felt uncomfortable about his previous wounds but I didn't. Once I had accepted that they were there they didn't bother me much. What worried me was how he had gotten them.

The tv faded into the back ground as I stared at Feliciano's shoulder. What sort of person was he? I was just repeating the questions I had already asked myself but I still didn't know. I wondered whether I should ask him. I didn't want to. The risk was too high for either of us.

I sighed and ran a few fingers through my hair. Still staring at his shoulder while he slept soundly. I leaned back, stifling a yawn. As I did I spotted another mysterious marking. A black tattoo. He hadn't struck me as the sort of person to have tattoos. Then again he hadn't struck me to be the sort of person to have scars either. I reached my hand out to touch the black marking pasted on his soft skin, I was intrigued. I knew it must of been of something but I couldn't tell what. Before my hand reached him from the other end of the sofa one of the dogs snapped at my hand and protectively curled against Feliciano. I yelp and sat back. Adrian growled at me softly as if he were both warning me and apologising to me.

"Jesus Christ, I wasn't going to touch him like that" I hissed, careful not to raise my voice and wake Feli. "I only wanted to see his tattoo" from the floor Christen and Zander gave me doubtful looks.

Needless to say I went to bed in a frightfully bad mood. During to night the dogs tried very hard to stay with both of the men in the apartment. For a little while they would snuggle with the friendly hairless puppy that I was terrible at looking after, but then they would come and climb into my bed. After a while of this I closed my door.

Time patiently and steadily moves forward.

The next day I awoke to the smell of something frying. I blinked awake, barely even conscious. The first thing I realised was that someone was in my apartment and the second thing I realised was that they were cooking my wursts. I leapt up immediately panicking. I slipped a little on the cold wood floor, but I barely even noticed. Instead I ran out of my bedroom and into the hall. Still largely in panic I burst into the kitchen to find a copper haired man cooking up my wursts in a fry pan, my dogs dancing around his feet. He turned to me in surprise. He grinned at me as I panted.

Oh.

My scarred Italian was just making breakfast.

Oh.

Oops.

"Good morning" he said, just like every other morning. Despite my retreating panic I smiled at the way he said it.

"Guten morgen, liebe" I covered my mouth with my hand, I hadn't meant to add that last bit. I hoped to god that he didn't know German. It was always possible, with him at least it was.

Still he seemed not to notice my slip up of the affectionate sort. I say down at the kitchen bench and mindlessly grabbed one of the two cups that sat together on the white marble. Warm coffee floated down my throat. He had obviously been awaiting my arrival in the real world. I leant my head down on my forearms, my grogginess suddenly returning. I hear him laugh but I can't tell why exactly. He could of been laughing at the air, but I wouldn't of been able to tell.

I took another sip of the chestnut coloured liquid. I think it might if had some chocolate mixed into it. I wouldn't of been surprised by it anyway. After a little while I realised that it was a weekend and my presence at work is unneeded so I began to carelessly snooze, almost dipping into sleep and almost not. At some point during my sleep induced daze Feliciano began singing. It was heavenly, he must of been the most perfect-pitched person in the world. I felt even more like I was slipping slowly into some blissful place of oblivion. Everything that bugged me just flowed away, taken with his tune. I couldn't understand the words but I didn't need to. He sung exactly like he spoke. He put every emotion he bothered to think of into his voice. He sung from the bottom whatever box he kept his fragile feelings in.

After a long delirious moment the singing cease and I was forced to look up in hope that my lullaby would return. My scarred Italian was looking at me with that same stupid smile, he was offering me a plate with eggs and my wursts on it. I took it with a grudging acceptance towards the silence if his voice and then the utensils he had gotten out. We sat together chatting about this and that. Somehow it was less like I had saved his life and brought him into my home, it was more like he had become my housemate. As flamboyant and thankful as he was he also bracing himself to be asked to leave. I could tell, he was waiting for it. I had to force down a chuckle at the thought. The idea that I would ever ask him to leave was absurd, or at least that's what I thought. I reasoned to myself that I probably should of been confused. Sure, I didn't understand half if what I was doing but I wasn't confused. I knew that these strange heartbreaking feelings were more that what I was letting then be, but I didn't have enough patience to analyse them. I planned to just call it friendship and ignore it from then on. I was too busy to deal with complications. I liked his company, it didn't need to be anything more than that. As long as I was going to get my four words a day I would be fine.

"I'm not going to make you leave you know? You can stay for as long as you want" I was still eating, but I was sure about my words. I looked up at him, my hair falling over my face. I didn't brush it away, instead I stared into his eyes, because I was both transfixed by how beautiful they were and I also wanted him to know I was serious. Feliciano was staring at me. He had tomato sauce smeared on his cheeks but he still managed to look seriously surprised.

"Really?" Even without singing he had a beautiful voice.

"I'm deadly serious" then his look of astonishment morphed into a look of delight. He grabbed my neck and hugged me over the bench and I sputtered. I guess I should of expected this reaction from him. He wasn't a paws off sort of person. Still I was glad I had made him happy.

Happiness never stays though. I should of known that.

Author's note:

Hell, I'm getting through this quickly. Gotta slow down.

I swear, I have to get myself a life.

If I had it my way I would own hetalia and the characters but unfortunately I don't have it my way.

Yours faithfully,

Clementine.


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks had passed and Ludwig began to buy red wine every week. Feliciano got healthier. He gained weight and was able to stay up during the day more often. He cooked most nights and walked the dogs who had seemed to accept him as their brother rather than master. Not once did Ludwig inquire about his scars. He got it. Feliciano had history with the world, but remained silent on the matter of his worry. Sometimes he would lie awake at night and fret about him. About what his scarred Italian had gone through. What horrible things had been done to him. Sometimes he would find him wandering around the apartment at night, with a shocked look on his face. Sometimes he would hear him calling his name. Sometimes Ludwig would let him crawl into his bed for a night. Despite his denial about his complicated and contradictory feelings just being friendship he was always sure there was a big enough space between them. Needless to say the dogs made damn sure as well. Time pasted easily and quickly.

Somehow Feliciano made life both easier and more difficult to handle. Everyday when he came home from work he was greeted by three kisses and a hug that made him stumble back. Everyday he would collect his four words from his Italian. Everyday he forgot a little more about Feliciano's scars and his past life.

Everyday he made a grave mistake.

A hand tight around his throat. Joined by another, the first hands twin. Breath jolting and rugged. Not enough. The room started to sway. Colours and figures danced before him, but all of them failed to make any sense. He held no familiarity with them, but they seemed to be laughing at him. Mocking him because he hadn't noticed. Because he had answered the door. Only one dancing figure stood out to him. _Fratello_, he thought. Lovino was staring at him, disapproving. He was so much better at keeping his guard up than Feliciano was. He tried to reach out to his brother, before realising his hands were bound together with thick rope.

He tried to focus on the man was his hands around his neck. Wavy blond hair, eerie blue eyes that sparkled in what little light Feliciano could still see. His nose began to wander away from his face and his hair gained a tentacle like nature.

He vaguely remembered the man.

"He took my baby away from me" the man spat in his face. "He stole my boys, so I will take you away from him" the man… the man was the father of that boy. The boy Ludwig was fond of.

"Please" he barely even managed to get that word out. He hoped his eyes hadn't changed. He didn't want Ludwig to see that. Oh, the things he would of done to this man had his hands and feet not been bound behind him. How stupid it was. Of all of the things he had survived, all the tragedies and all the fights, and this was how he was going to die. Death by a drunk Frenchman. If only, if only. If only so many things had been done differently. He would of screamed out in frustration had his vocal chords not of been being crushed.

He could feel the aching echoes of past wounds and the ones that had been inflicted upon him by the man.

His vision was was fading fast, but he was convinced that he would survive. Convinced that the Frenchman would not be the death of him. With his strength suddenly rearing up he shoved his head forward in a wild attempt to headbutt the assailant. By some stroke of luck the Frenchman stumbled back clutching his forehead. He was obviously heavily intoxicated.

Feliciano was a professional and he had been a professional for many, many years. He had been fighting his whole life and been trained by the best in the business. He couldn't clean, he couldn't do navigation for shit, he couldn't do politics, he didn't even vaguely understand calculus, but, hell, he could fight. Even in this pitiful state he had been demoted to.

Used his fingers to raise his back a little off the floor, from where he had collapsed. His feet swung out, toes pointed. He felt the man's ankles thwack against the bonds wrapped around his legs. The man's boots slid out from underneath him and he clattered to the ground with one last feeble attempt at a yelp.

Feliciano was left panting on the ground.

He rested himself back to the ground, why did it never just work? Why did complications always have to arise?

I climbed the stairs carrying a bottle of the best red wine I had been able to find and a box of German beer. It was a Friday and I had come to love that particular day of the week. Friday was the day Feliciano made pizza and we drunk ourselves into the small hours. It was a good life I had adopted with him.

Arthur had come to work for a visit with Mattie and Alfred, but Francis had been mysteriously absent. When I had told him Arthur had said that he actually had come to thank me. Apparently he had just gotten custody over both the boys and Mattie would be living with him from now on. I was happy to hear that. I knew that Francis would blame me for him losing custody, but I didn't really care. He hated me a little anyway. I was just glad that Mattie was going to get the home he deserved and Arthur said I could visit when ever I wanted.

The dogs were walking beside me. When they were pups I had to keep them on leads, but now they were far too accustomed to the life that I lead to become frantic and anything. Despite this, I wasn't that surprised when they began to panic. They scampered down the cluttered hall. My apartment building had always had pretty lax sanitary standards. After a while administration had just accepted that if they were going to have animals welcome they were going to attract some strange ones, myself included.

The dogs clawed at the door to my apartment, but I dismissed the idea of anything amiss. I had a pretty good security system on the place and I always told Feliciano to check who it was before opening the door. He never listens to me though. Still I remained unconsciously oblivious to everything other than the liqueur in my arms and the idea of freshly made Italian pizza made by my very own Italian chef.

I thought nothing of the fact that the door was unlocked. Feliciano was constantly forgetting to lock it when he went out for walks. There were a lot of peculiar things about my scarred Italian but one of the more subtle things was that everyday he would walk to the post office and back. He would walk while I was usually at work but I caught on. I thought it was strange, but I reasoned to myself that he was probably just trying to stay healthy. Somehow he never seemed to be that sort if person. I mean considering how much pasta the guy ate.

I pushed open the door and braced myself for his tackle. I still blushed at his hugs and his kisses, but I had given up trying to reject them. He was surprisingly persistent.

I stared down the hall in wait for his laugh, or his voice. Yet, his enthusiastic greeting never came. I frowned, his greeting made me uncomfortable, but I never said I wanted it to stop. The dogs were barking loudly and I could hear his muffled voice so I knew he was in the apartment.

I stomped moodily through the apartment. I placed the beers and the red wine on the kitchen bench. I noticed that vegetables had been left half cut on the bench. Like he had forgotten about them. My frown deepened. No greeting and late pizza.

Suddenly Zander came rushing in to the kitchen. I ignored his frantic jumps. This was becoming eerily strange. I wanted to find Feli, suddenly worrying that he had fallen over and was unable to get up or something of that nature. But if he had fallen over why wouldn't he call for me. Becoming severely more worried I began to storm throughout the apartment. It was just a whim to follow Zander, but it still lead me to my scarred Italian.

I fell to my knees beside him, panicking. He lay on his side on the cold wood floor. His hands and feet were bound behind him and even though he was sleeping he shook violently and tears streamed down his face. There was a shy bruise forming under his jaw and blood was seeping through his shirt.

Adrian was prodding his face with his wet nose, Feliciano didn't respond. All the dogs began to whine for there brother. I pushed then away and tried to reach for Feliciano. My hands were shaking as I grabbed his shoulders. I shook him as gently as I could. He mewed weakly and my heart leapt into my throat. Oh thank god. I pressed my forehead to his, almost crying.

"Feliciano, I'm so sorry" I was breathless with panic. Who had done this too him? Had his past caught up to him? I leant over him my hands still quivering with fear. I fumbled with the knots binding his wrists. They came loose and Feliciano immediately brought them to his chest like he was trying to protect them. I moved on to his ankles, the dogs had already started to rip at the ropes, snarling. I shoved them away and tried with my more deft human hands to undo the rushed knots. I quickly got them undone, Feliciano groaned at their release. I paused to catch my breath as I crouched over him. My mind swirled with possibilities, ones that made me shudder with horror. How long had my scarred Italian been lying here? Why was he bound? Why was he so bruised?

I looked to his face, Adrian was licking his cheeks and his tears. He was looking at me through the fur of the big dog. Feliciano had his arms around the large dog and his nose pushed into the warmth of Adrian's hair. In his hand he clutched something and I reached for it on instinct. A card. An identity card.

Name: Francis

Age: 24

Date of birth: 12/5/1990

Oh god.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

I never thought that it would ever happen. I never thought he would even try. I reached towards him. My heart leapt into my throat as I pulled him toward me. Adrian eased away letting my body replace him in Feliciano's arms. He clung to me, his painful tears making a wet patch on my shirt. I held him close to my chest, my arms gripping his sides. I felt my own tears fill my eyes. I has failed him. The place where conflict was meant to stay away from. I had failed to protect him. Even worse I had brought this down on him. It was all my fault.

He wept into my shirt and I rocked him back and forth to soothe him. All the dogs pressed up against us, whining softly. I knew in the back of my mind that I ought to call the police, but I didn't want to leave him. I left him once and this was what happened. I didn't think that Francis would return, but if he did I wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He had done this to my little scarred Italian. I would get my revenge, but I would get my revenge later. For now I would make sure that my scarred Italian would be okay.

I lifted him up. Making very sure not to startle him. It wouldn't of mattered. As soon as I stood he yelled out in pain. He pushed away from me. I held him as tightly as I could so that he won't fall from my grasp and hurt himself more. He yelled out again, withering in fear and agony. I stumbled down. He seemed to try and wrestle me to get down. Somehow he managed to make me fall down into my ass. I let go of his legs and a he moved them so that he sat beside me, but still on my chest. He calmed instantly and I held onto him so that he won't move. I buried my face in his soft hair, kissing his head. He mewed softly and wrapped his arms around my torso, still crying softly.

My poor scarred Italian, shaking with fear.

I would never leave him again.

Author's note:

Dear lord that was difficult. I think I actually felt physical pain while writing this.

Anyway, here is yet another chapter. I think I've become addicted to writing this story. I just love it.

Yet again I have to state that I do not own hetalia.

Yours faithfully,

Clementine.


	5. Chapter 5

How screwed up.

How totally and utterly screwed up.

Where did I go wrong? What did I do? What about this situation did I deserve? I sat in the hallway and stared at the celling. Normally on a Saturday morning at this time I would be just waking up to the smell if frying wursts made by my skinny scarred Italian. Not today though. Today was a day of mourning and questions about what to do next. So many questions I was yet ready to ask and decisions I didn't want to make. It was just so screwed up.

I would of yelled in frustration, had I not wanted to force Feliciano to wake. He still lay in my arms and I could feel his constant heartbeat through my fingers. I looked down at him, my copper haired beauty. He still made my heart sore with pride that I had given this man somewhere to stay, but then it just came crashing back down when I remembered who's fault it was that he was once again bruised. Looking back I could see all the things that might of prevented it or at least softened the blow. I should of called home more, or told him the lock the door more. I should of asked Arthur not to tell Francis it was me. I should if been able to be there. I should if been able to protect what is most achingly precious to me.

I had already noticed the angry purple/blue bruises had encircled his slender neck. Francis had been trying to take him away from me. He had tried to kill my scarred Italian and that made me very, very angry. I felt tears pricking at my eyes just at the thought if him no longer being alive. I don't know how I survived on my own before.

I didn't want to know how I would survive after if I had to.

Time patiently waited for the right time to strike.

When I awoke again my scarred Italian was missing, my arms were limp, they no longer had anything to hold onto. My heart leapt into my throat, but then I heard a few steady footsteps and I knew he was fine.

My back ached painfully and I held back a groan. With a stumble and an almost fall I stood. I tried to make my footsteps as faint on the floor at I could as not to startle Feliciano. He had been attacked so he was bound to be a little jumpy, even when it was just me. I hoped he knew I would never allow that to happen to him again. I hoped he knew that with all my heart.

I paused cautiously in the door way to the kitchen. He stood there, leaning on his hands that gripped the side if the bench. I had to admit he had stitched himself up quite well. He had his back to me and I could see his shirt flung over one of the chairs at the dining table. Finally I could see his tattoo. Wings. Black and fearless, they draped down his back in impeccable detail. They were life size and even had their own shadows. They looked tattered, but as strong as my scarred italian's will. It was true, my scarred italian was a fool and a coward and a terrible cry baby, but he was also ferociously stubborn. He got his way.

Always.

There had always been something mythical about him. Something not quite human enough, too remarkable to be less that fiction. I could see a few bruises scattered around his back where he must of been shoved up against a wall. Bandages were wrapped around his middle where his wings disappeared under them. It looked around the place where I remember blood seeping through his shirt. I could see the tips if his black wings peeking out from the bottom of the white fabric. He had another scar on his lower back, just on his right hip. His back was so slender, just like the rest of him. Even when discoloured with bruises he still looked… sexy. I blushed in an uproar, thank god he hadn't noticed me.

I noticed a glass of his red wine on the counter and I also noticed that it was little early for that. There was some horrible raging war going on in my scarred italian's head. My heart sunk. I don't know what I was thinking. How could I possibly think that his scars were skin deep? How could I just suppose that physical harm was it? When is simple ever true?

"I have to leave" his words were barely audible, but I heard them all the same. They echoed inside my head and made my breath hitch and my heart beat stumble.

"What?" He jumped and turned towards me in fright. His eyes were wide and frightened.

"I have to leave" he repeated, but he was talking to me this time. I leaned on the doorway in shock. I hadn't thought of that. I hadn't thought he would of thought of that. Why would he leave? Francis would go to jail and that would be the end of that, why would he leave? I ran my fingers through my hair in anguish. Is he angry at me? He doesn't look angry at me. Does he blame me?

"Why?" It was the only thing I could think to say. More than that, I just wanted him not to. I felt suddenly desperate. He reached towards me, he was limping slightly and my concern rose even higher. My poor scarred Italian. His movements were slow and remorseful. He leaned up and wrapped his arms around my neck, I didn't move. I was far too shocked.

What if he actually left me?

He rested his head in my shoulder, pressing himself to me as if trying to comfort my panic. Everything was crumbling too fast. It was just all too fast.

"I'm sorry" why was he apologising? What could he of possibly done? "I'm so sorry Luddy. I didn't think they would be able to find me, I swear" everything about this man broke me. He broke me over and over again. I wrapped my arm around his thin waist and buried my nose in the crook of his neck. Lavender.

I couldn't help it, I had started to cry. Tears of stress and fear got smeared into his soft warm skin. My whole body shuddered with panicked sobs. Whatever he wanted I would give to him, just as long as he stayed with me. Just as long as he stayed, that's all I wanted. All I have ever wanted.

"P-please" I was stuttering, I hadn't stuttered in years. "Please, d-don't leave me. Please don't go anywhere" I held him tighter that I had ever held anyone. I loved him so much it made everything about my being ache. It hurt to be in the same room as him. It hurt to hear him sing when he cooked. It just hurt. It hurt like nothing else.

"But if I stay, you're gonna get hurt and I don't want that. I don't want you to get hurt, not at all" his voice, for once, sounded stronger than mine. I sobbed into his neck. I didn't care, I didn't care if I got hurt. I didn't care if Francis had tried to hurt my scarred Italian because someone had told him to. The pain in my chest was too much to bear with him here, I didn't want to think about him gone.

"Don't care. Never cared" I pulled away from him, holding onto his shoulders. I knew I was a blubbering mess, I knew I wasn't thinking straight, I just didn't have the patience to think about that. What I knew in all was that it was a terrible crier. When I cried I looked horrible. I came out in slobbering sobs and shaking shoulders. I didn't care at that point though. The urgency of the whole idea of him leaving filled me with this uncontrollable feeling of looming disaster.

I pressed my forehead to his and he whimpered along with me. I couldn't help it that I was hurting my scarred Italian. I knew I was only making it harder for him. I knew that him leaving was the right choice. My career was only just beginning and I was already living with someone I barely even knew. But I was still ready to drop everything. Their was not hesitance to speak of.

"Feliciano, I don't know where you've been. I don't know what you've done. I... I barely know anything, but I love you. I'm sorry, but I really do. I know you don't feel that way about me and I'm sorry, but don't leave me here. Let me come with you. We'll just drive away. And I'll never ask. I won't, I swear" he was look at me with those golden amber eyes, searching my own. He grips my shirt between his hands, his fingers shaking with fear and uncertainty. The echo of another thought crosses my mind. Just a brief idea. Just a little quivering thought of whimsical tunes. A place, so far away from here. A little cottage somewhere. A place for the two of us. Our dogs and perhaps a few horses too. Maybe an orchard too.

I search his eyes for anything, even just a little clue to what is going on in his head. I just need to know, because some stupid little romantic hope kept me clinging, clinging to the idea that maybe everything was a little less screwed up than I had first thought.

He doesn't answer me and my impulsive confession that I had only just figured out myself. Instead he pushes me back and I fall. We descend to the ground with a loud thump. My scarred Italian lay on my chest, but I don't even have time to be consumed by a blush.

It was just a kiss.

Just a frantic mashing of lips for half a second of contact.

Just a kiss.

Just a mind binding exercise of something I couldn't describe.

Just something that drove me mad.

I forced my scarred Italian onto his back in one solid movement. I kissed the bruises around his neck as my mind clouded over. It was all too much. The stress and the fleeting panic, it was just far too much for me. His smooth lovely skin beneath my skin and the beautiful way his body shuddered under mine. I heard him moan quietly and I pull away from his slender neck to look him in the eye. He leans up to me, not quite reaching my lips, his eyes closed as if he is opinion some other world. His hand flutters slightly on my jaw. He's kissed me many times, but this time it was different. This time it was real and not just a cultural gap.

"Ti amo" I don't know Italian, but I know what that means. All the roughness melts out of me and it's suddenly all quiet and sensual. I lean down to him and cup his cheek in my hand. I love his cheeks, so soft. Everything part of my body is filled with love and lust. I lean down and kiss him. Such a kiss that had never been kissed before.

And too think it all started with a picture and my need for four words a day.

It truly was the making of brief and fleeting reason and the epic destruction of common sense.

Of course I never got my cottage, but the cottage was never really important. Instead of a orchard I got a Spanish vineyard. I did get a few horses and another dog as well. Somehow I managed to get forced into buying a place in the middle of Spain with Feliciano's brother that I hadn't known existed, his boyfriend, a chirpy Spaniard named Antonio and their little girl. After a while Feliciano told me about his pain speckled past. That night he had cried in my arms. By then of course I had noticed that his brother had had the same tattoo of the wings on his back as he did, but I hadn't thought much of it. They were brothers after all, but then that tattoo became so much more. They were marks of ownership. It wasn't my scarred Italian's fault he was scarred. It was all just a tumble down turn of events that I knew haunted him. Still after that day of panic and fretting he was mine, or more appropriately I was his.

Either way I never saw Francis again, but I still saw Feliciano and I kissed his scars.

I kissed his scars until he forgot they were even there at all.

Author's note:

God lord that was startling. I didn't really mean to end it in this chapter but it just sort of happened.

It was very abrupt, even for me and I was writing the damn thing. Anyway, I have become frivolously distracted by a new pairing. Hopefully this one will go for a little longer.

I hate repeating this but I, sadly, do not own hetalia or the characters.

yours faithfully,

Clementine.

P.s I will soon be starting a new story called 'the ferocious roars of tea drinking dragons' and it is a Arthur and Alfred pairing and it is making me very happy, so if you see it around be sure to check it out.

P.p.s I may add to this down the road but I would place any bets.


End file.
